


A Wasted Gift

by accurst_writer



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Angst, Clato Christmas Week, F/M, victor au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:40:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28271787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accurst_writer/pseuds/accurst_writer
Summary: Cato bought a Christmas gift for Clove, the first Christmas after the games.Clato Christmas Week Day 3 - Gifts
Relationships: Cato/Clove (Hunger Games)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 10





	A Wasted Gift

Clove had never been the type of person who cared about gifts. Especially not surprises. She liked to know what was going on at all times, so what was the point of surprising her with something she might not even like?

Besides, presents were all but banned in the Academy. They just meant you cared. There was no point. 

So why did Cato care now?  
It was the first time it had been Christmas since the Games, after all. For some reason he found himself in one of the fancy weapons shops of District Two, picking out an engraved butterfly knife for her.   
He paid the cashier, thinking about the smile on Clove’s face when she saw a new knife. She was so good with a butterfly knife, twirling it around her hand as though it was nothing. 

He walked in the pouring rain, pulling his hood up. The sound of the rain reminded him of the Games. There’d been a thunderstorm when he’d been tracking Thresh through the fields. When he'd beaten him to a bloody pulp- Cato shook his head to clear his thoughts.

He stopped by a convenience store to pick up some wrapping paper. His wrapping was messy, but it would keep the knife a surprise. He could see it now, Clove using a penknife to open the wrapping, jumping up and down in excitement when she saw it. 

Trying to shield the package from the rain inside his coat, he walked home through the puddles.   
Someone’s dog barked in a nearby garden and he flinched. The final fight of the Games had taken its toll on him. The 12s had had such a big advantage, it wasn’t fair.   
The wolves looking like the tributes had almost been the final straw for Cato. Looking off the Cornucopia and into the eyes of his allies. 

He tried not to think about it.

When he got home he pushed on the door. It was open, so he walked inside. There was light spilling onto the carpet from the kitchen, and movement came from inside. 

“Clover?” He called out, walking through.   
The person sitting at the kitchen table turned out not to be Clove, but Enobaria. Cato waved.   
“Hey, Eno. What are you doing here? Did Clove ask you over?”

Enobaria closed her eyes briefly, as if in pain. “Clove’s not here, Cato.”  
He dropped the package onto the table and sat down. “Do you know when she’ll be back? I got her something.”

Enobaria put a hand on his shoulder as gently as she ever had. Quietly, sympathetically, she whispered something he didn’t want to know. 

“No,” he said. “You’re lying. She’s upstairs, right?”

Enobaria sighed. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Cato. I know you’re in denial, but you have to face it. She died in the Games.”

Without even looking, Cato threw the package he’d bought into the trash.


End file.
